


Through the Eyes of Love

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Series: 2010 Fic Project [6]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is just along for the ride when Kanan realizes what he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Eyes of Love

**Author's Note:**

> It's hard to believe the year is half over, but here is the season six fic for 10+2 in 2010. I didn't think I had another Abyss fic in me, but I evidently I did. 
> 
> Originally posted June 2010

THROUGH THE EYES OF LOVE

It’s like waking from a long dream; he can’t remember the last time he’d been asleep for so long. He thought his last thoughts had been just that, his last thoughts. He was going to die filled with fear, loss, anger and the unexpected sadness of profound regret, an emotion with which he has no familiarity but would have brought him to his knees if he hadn’t already collapsed on the ground. And then he’d known no more…but by the gods, he’s alive and he feels almost human again—in spite of the fever and massive infection raging through his borrowed body; his new host is near death and unconscious, his vital systems slowly shutting down.

Kanan lays quietly, gently curled around his host’s spine, feeling the too-rapid beat of his borrowed heart, the weak flow of blood through his veins and the shallow breathing of lungs battling for oxygen. He is alive, but he won’t be for long, if he doesn’t concentrate all his being on healing his host. From a great distance he hears a familiar voice and feels a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Rest easy, old friend. There will be time to talk once you are healed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During the long hours of healing, Kanan comes to know his host. In his long life, Kanan has blended with many hosts, both male and female, but this is the first time he’s ever blended with an unwilling host. After the first delicate probing that revealed the identity of his host as Jack O’Neill, the well-known leader of the Tau’ri, and then his host’s hatred for all goa’uld, regardless of allegiance, Kanan concentrates his efforts solely on healing his dying host. There are obviously forces beyond his now severely limited knowledge at work. However, he knows Thoran and it will not surprise him if he is being used as some pawn in the increasingly uneasy relations between the Tau’ri and the Tok’ra. And evidently Jack O’Neill is in the same position.

Kanan does not wish to violate his unconscious host anymore than he already has, but the healing process is slow and his curiosity proves too great. The mere fact that he is able to effect healing within his host is a testament to the strength and resilience of the human—and O’Neill’s desire to live. Without O’Neill’s consent he will not probe too deep, he senses dark recesses in the man’s past that he will not violate, but he will know the man to whom he owes his life.

Courage and almost a reckless bravery are not so unexpected; Kanan knows the stories of Ra’s defeat, along with Apophis, Sokar and Cronos. Loyalty and honor are interwoven tightly with the courage and especially with those O’Neill considers his friends, who are a very select few indeed. Humor and an almost obsessive interest in fishing bob lightly along the surface. And so faint as to be almost ethereal is love—strong, deep and intense—and laced with a longing so deep that it makes him ache. The intensity of his host’s emotions leaves Kanan curiously unsettled and he stops probing; there will be plenty of time for more intimate sharing when and if he fully blends with his reluctant host.

When O’Neill’s heart rate slows down and his blood pressure is almost normal and he no longer struggles for each breath, Kanan risks opening his eyes. His eyes water and he blinks furiously, the muted light of the chamber as fierce as the sun. With more effort than he likes, Kanan manages to move one of his arms, weakly rubbing at his eyes before the effort proves to be too much and it drops back down at his side. When he can focus, he sees the pale blue walls of a Tok’ra tunnel and relief surges through him. He hadn’t been sure until now that he’d made it and he carefully turns his head, looking for anyone.

A woman he doesn’t recognize, wearing the rather drab Tok’ra brown ‘uniform’, sits at table and he croaks, “Hello.”

She rises immediately, her severe expression softening only slightly, her hand cool against his forehead for a brief moment before pressing against his wrist, feeling his pulse. “I am Orlinda. How do you feel?”

“Like hell.” The grumbled comment is out before Kanan realizes it and he is immediately taken aback by the colloquialism. It is not a phrase he would normally use, but he quickly squelches the flicker of unease he feels with the unexpected comment.

The woman appears undisturbed by his small outburst. “It is still early in your recovery.” She pulls a small device out of her pocket that Kanan recognizes as an automatic injection syringe. “Your host is not yet ready for any extended activity.” She presses the device against his neck and he feels a stinging sensation followed by the unmistakable flow of a strong sedative into his system. “Rest now and when you next awaken, you may talk with Thoran.”

Kanan tries to protest; he lifts his arm but the sedative is too strong and it falls limply back down onto the cot. His eyes close and as he drifts away he hears the faint echo of a voice. “Been there, done that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was one of those odd dreams he’d have occasionally, where he knows he’s dreaming, but is stuck in the dream and can’t wake up. And it isn’t like Jack is really himself either, it’s almost like he’s observing and participating in the dream at the same time with a location and cast of characters completely unknown to him. Like most dreams, it swirls and twists randomly through his unconscious mind; and he’s merely along for the ride.

He pulls her a bit roughly into his arms, catching her by surprise, but she doesn’t protest. The kiss is sweet and tentative; she’s soft and warm against him and he doesn’t even try to hide the rush of arousal that courses through him at the soft press of her body against his. He suspects he doesn’t need any more than just a few kisses and sweet caresses to obtain her cooperation, but he will take more. She’s nervous though, and scared, her eyes huge in her pale face, her short blonde hair spiked and tousled. “If we are seen together,” she whispers, her eyes darting around the empty chamber, “he will kill us.”

“Do not worry,” he arrogantly reassures her. “I will protect you.” His hands glide down to her waist, his fingers flexing lightly against the slight swell of her hips. “He will be in the sarcophagus until morning, you will not be missed.”

Her shy smile sends a surge of triumph through him, it was almost too easy to seduce her and he ignores the voice inside his head that tells him his mission could have been accomplished another way. “But where is the fun in that?” Jerrod smoothly counters. He takes her small hand within his much larger and she willingly follows him to his bed chamber.

~*~*~*~*~*~

For such a tiny thing, her breasts are surprisingly full and her hips lush, her skin smooth and her response all he had hoped. He makes love to her with calculated passion and when she cries out his name, his triumph is complete. It is only then that Jerrod allows his own release to flow through him; collapsing on her still trembling body. She is soft and sweet, whispering words of love and in moment of weakness, or pity, he’s not sure, but he capitulates to the voice in his head and tells her what she expects to hear. And Jerrod almost believes the lies himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The argument is growing old and time is growing short; Ba’al is becoming suspicious and it is only a matter of time before he puts all the pieces together and acts. “She will be fine,” Jerrod snaps, not for the first time.

“She trusts us,” his symbiote counters. “She loves us. And he will kill her if he finds out.”

“Sacrifices must be made. Are you going soft on me after all this time, old man?” The answering silence is profound. “Did you really think this could end any other way?” Jerrod sighs heavily; he doesn’t expect an answer and reminds his symbiote, “Casualty of war.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kanan struggles to consciousness, not because of the extent of his host’s virus, which is mostly neutralized now, but because of the sedative he’s been given. He’s been dreaming, the same dreams that had haunted his hibernation and left him filled with shame and remorse.

“You didn’t have to leave her behind.” The accusing voice is weak but Kanan recognizes it, not a dream or a memory, it is his host.

“This is no concern of yours,” he replies automatically. “However Jerrod was right, to bring her along would have compromised the mission.”

“Didn’t make any difference in the long run anyway, did it?”

Kanan had not intended to interact with his host at all, but with his defenses lowered he is caught off guard; and his new host is correct. He and Jerrod had underestimated Ba’al, the system lord figured out their deception much faster than they had anticipated. Instead of a discreet departure, under cover of darkness and without arousing any suspicion, they were forced to make a bold move for the heavily guarded Stargate during the day. And Jerrod paid with his life, mortally wounded as they’d fled through the Stargate; Kanan had barely been able to keep his host alive until they’d reached the rendezvous.

“I have survived and will pass along the vital information we obtained.”

“And what about the girl?”

“She is of no consequence,” Kanan replies, bitterly regurgitating one of Jerrod’s arguments.

His host’s laugh is weary. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I was there, in your dreams. You told her you loved her and then you left her behind.”

Kanan is generally slow to anger, but his host has gone too far, digging into matters that are not his concern. With a ruthless disregard for his host that at any other time would appall him, Kanan shuts O’Neill down, but not before he sees the memory of a blonde-haired woman; her image is distorted by a force shield but there is no mistaking the anguish—and love—on her face.

Shaking with the strong emotions coursing through him, Kanan takes complete control of his host, forcing his eyes open; he will have this whole sordid business over with as soon as possible. He sits up immediately, easily fighting down the dizziness that threatens and swings his legs over the side of the cot. Orlinda is still there, her lips pursed with displeasure, but Kanan is in no mood for her particular brand of care. “Tell Thoran I am ready to talk.” When it seems she’s going to hesitate, he snaps, “Now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have done well, old friend.” Thoran smiles, clearly pleased with the information Kanan has finally been able to share. “This may well be the turning point for our operations on that front.”

Kanan summons up a smile that he knows will satisfy Thoran. He is also relieved to finally have shared all of the information that has cost him so dearly. It has been a long and drawn-out process, he’s had to repeat his entire story from beginning to end numerous times, first to Thoran and then to the entire council and then to all the various analysts and other interested parties. A process that he thought would only take a few hours has dragged on for days. But it is finally over and now, only one matter remains. “What of the search for a new host?”

Thoran hesitates before the briefest moment, but then answers, “It is not going well. And the Tau’ri are becoming…restless.”

From his initial conversation with Thoran, Kanan was surprised to learn that almost two weeks had passed since his blending with O’Neill. He had no concept of time during the days he’d struggled to heal the dying man and it amazes him that after such an extended time, they both survived. And now another week to pass on his intel.

And while Kanan can empathize with the frustration in Thoran’s voice, he can not fault the Tau’ri their restlessness. He has known Thoran for many years and suspects that while he didn’t deceive the Tau’ri, he was less than honest with his intentions. Willing hosts are a rare commodity and the longer the search for one drags on, the more difficult it will be for him to successfully leave O’Neill. There is one thing Thoran hasn’t lied about that at least, he will not stay in an unwilling host.

“Perhaps I can help in the search. I may know one who—”

Thoran interrupts him with a genial smile and clap on the back, clearly bring their discussion to an end. “You have done enough for now. Rest, my friend. And have no worries.”

Kanan watches Thoran walk away and he sighs, turning down the corridor that will lead to his chamber. It is in his nature to worry. And especially regarding his host…O’Neill only surfaces in his dreams now, which only increases his guilt. It is uncomfortable for him; Kanan does not like suppressing his host. His past hosts, over time, became a part of him and he a part of them; two strangers, united by a common goal and enemy. He hoped it might be the same with O’Neill, but the longer he stays with the man, the more resigned he becomes to never achieving a mutually beneficial blending. Jerrod had often accused him of being a romantic, and perhaps he is. But he is also a realist and time is growing short.

And the dreams…he can’t control his dreams, the unconscious mind of both host and symbiote are active during what should be restful and healing sleep. And in normal circumstances, that would indeed be the case. The chasm between him and O’Neill is only crossed during the hours when he is forced to give into sleep, not that what he currently experiences could be called sleep. Kanan stands in his doorway and looks tiredly at the spartan chamber with only a simple bed and single chair. Such a contrast to the sumptuous chambers he’d had as one of Ba’al’s underlings. He wonders what Shallan would think of his current circumstances…if she even thinks of him at all.

He tries to put her out of his mind, but his worry for Shallan eats away at him, interrupting his days and tormenting his nights. In spite of her role as Ba’al’s lotar, she had an innocence and naiveté that captivated him. Her beautiful eyes and face haunt his waking and sleeping hours. And he finds no sympathy in O’Neill; not that he deserves it. He took the easy way out and followed Jerrod’s lead. It doesn’t really matter now who was right and who was wrong, the only thing that matters is that he left the woman he loves in peril.

“It’s not too late.”

Kanan sinks down onto the cot in his quarters. “It is,”he murmurs tiredly, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. “It is too late for all of us.”

“You can make this right.” His host’s voice vibrates with conviction and Kanan allows himself just the tiniest bit of hope. “It’s never too late….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack drags her with him, he hasn’t come this far to leave her behind now. It’s quickly apparent that the unexpected attack has thrown the compound into chaos and without conscious thought, Jack follows the twists and turns in the fortress that finally lead them to the outside. Once out in the open, Shallan unexpectedly takes the lead. He struggles to keep up with her, his lungs burning, his initial burst of energy fading rapidly.

The Stargate is unguarded and they duck under the DHD when two death gliders swoop low overhead, but the gliders don’t even bother to strafe the ground around them, concentrating on the fortress. Shallan tugs him to his feet, her face is pale and she looks scared to death, but her grip is strong when she takes his hand and forces it down on the DHD. “Quickly! We must leave!”

Jack looks stupidly at the DHD, the glyphs barely visible in the glow from the burning outbuildings and the stars. Home…he has to get them home. He sways a bit and grips the edge of the DHD with one hand. Shallan wraps a slender arm around him and steadies him as he starts pressing the glyphs. They can’t go to Earth…but they can go to the Alpha Site. He doesn’t look up when he hears the gate start to rotate, but continues to press the symbols they’ve all memorized. He presses the final glyph and before he can reach for the center crystal, she’s there ahead of him, and they press it together.

The Stargate activates with a tremendous whoosh and Shallan is now the one dragging him, urging him towards the Stargate. He’s gasping for breath, forcing his legs to carry him the few remaining yards. He can hear the sound of a Jaffa horn in the distance and she pleads softly, “Please, hurry. We must go.”

She puts her arm around him again and they stagger the last few feet to the event horizon. He feels like she’s the one rescuing him now, rather than the other way around, but it doesn’t matter, as long as they both make it. With the sound of more death gliders approaching in his ears, Jack grips Shallan’s hand tightly and falls through the event horizon.

When they stagger through the Stargate on the Alpha Site and are met by a half-dozen armed marines, Jack has the presence of mind to shout, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” He drops to knees, unable to take another step and when he collapses onto the ground, Shallan hovers protectively at his side as they’re surrounded by the heavily guarded marines.

“It’s Colonel O’Neill!”

“Get a medic!”

“Colonel Pierce! Over here!”

He doesn’t recognize any of the voices calling out or the faces hovering over him until he sees Pierce. “Get that stretcher over here,” Pierce orders. The base commander’s grim expression lightens for a moment. “Good to see you in one piece, Jack.”

Jack grimaces, trying for an offhand quip, but he groans instead when he’s lifted onto a stretcher. Shallan’s hand falls out of his grip and he looks around wildly for her, only to see her being escorted away, casting a final, scared look over her shoulder before she disappears from sight.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” Pierce reassures him. “We’ll take good care of her.” Jack isn’t sure how Pierce knows who she is, but he’s beyond exhaustion now. “We’ve been on alert since you went missing,” he explains, “and we’ve been ordered to get you to Earth ASAP.” Pierce gives his shoulder a brief squeeze and steps back; the medics crowd around him again, working efficiently, simultaneously hooking him up to their machines and strapping him onto the stretcher. Jack hears the Stargate activate and realizes Pierce isn’t kidding and before he can protest, he’s whisked through the event horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack sleeps for twenty-four hours straight and when he wakes up, it just feels like he’s been asleep, not dead. He doesn’t remember dreaming, but he feels vaguely unsettled, like there’s something just outside his field of vision that teases him with just the faintest of glimpses. But he feels rested and he’s not sure if it’s because Fraiser has doped him, but he doesn’t think so. Fraiser fusses over him, right in her element, murmuring about exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition. He has vague memories of seeing his team, he even thinks he saw Daniel again.

He also feels like there are big gaps in his memory, huge chunks of the past month that are just gone. His last solid memory before he woke up in the sarcophagus for the first time is being in Antarctica and he’s not sure he wants to remember everything in between. He’s not even sure now how much of what happened at Ba’al’s hands is real, maybe he’s dreamt all of it. But he doesn’t tell any of that to Fraiser.

It’s another twenty-four hours before the good doctor deems him suitable for release, apparently satisfied that he’s not going to go into withdrawal. Luckily it seems he’s escaped that lovely side effect, guess it helps that he wasn’t using the sarcophagus for recreational purpose. The clothes he wore into the base those long weeks ago are brought to him and he’s surprised at how good it feels to put on his clothes again, the comfortable khakis, the loose-fitting long sleeved black shirt that is one of his favorites.

Jack finishes tying the laces on his boots and he picks up his worn leather jacket, preparing to make his escape when Teal’c looms in the doorway of the infirmary. “Teal’c,” he acknowledges his friend. He doesn’t question why this is only the second time he’s seen any of his team, and he’s glad it’s just Teal’c. He still feels too raw from what’s happened and he doesn’t think he can bear the sympathetic looks he’d get from Jonas or Carter. “I was just—”

“General Hammond requests your presence in the briefing room.”

He’s knows it’s not a request and with a wry half-smile, he follows Teal’c. Thank god the Jaffa doesn’t expect him to make any small talk and they ride the elevator down to Level Twenty-eight in silence. When they reach the briefing room, Teal’c stands aside and lets him enter first. Jack hesitates for the briefest moment when he sees Carter and Jonas sitting at the big table and wonders if that’s why Teal’c let him enter first.

“Colonel O’Neill.” Jonas speaks first, a broad smile on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“Sir—” Carter starts to speak, her eyes filled with cautious pleasure, when Hammond appears from his office. She stops speaking and stands, Jonas quickly joining her.

“Be seated, people,” Hammond commands, sitting at the head of the table. Teal’c brushes past him and takes a seat one chair down from Hammond’s left, leaving a place for him. Dropping his jacket in an empty chair, he takes his place between Hammond and Teal’c. Jack feels out of the loop, he’s just returned from Antarctica but his team has gone on without him. And he wonders what could be so important that Hammond has called him from his sickbed, more or less. He’s already told the general as much as he remembers and he’s sure that the same information has been passed onto his team. The only good thing is that it saves him from having to tell them.

“I’ve asked you all here because Thoran has requested a debriefing with Colonel O’Neill and I have decided to grant him that request.”

Jack hears Sam’s soft gasp of dismay and Jonas suddenly looks agitated. “General, sir, I can’t believe you would just let him back in here after everything that happened to Colonel O’Neill!”

“Jonas,” Sam places a hand on his arm. “I’m sure General Hammond has a good reason.” Her voice holds a question and both she and Jonas look at Hammond. Even Teal’c seems disturbed, his frown radiating displeasure.

“Hey,” Jack says, breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere. “I’m sorry if this is a stupid question, but who is this Thoran?”

The look of concern on Sam’s face deepens. “You don’t remember? He’s the Tok’ra who arranged for your blending with Kanan.”

“He was responsible for your safety,” Teal’c rumbles, his voice filled with disdain.

“Sorry,” Jack says, looking around the table. “Drawing a blank here.” Hammond frowns, but then the klaxons sound.

“Off-world gate activation.”

Moments later Walter appears on the stairs leading from the control room. “It’s the Tok’ra, sir.”

Hammond stands, Jack slowly rising with the others. “Open the iris,” Hammond orders. “I’ll be right there.” The sergeant disappears back down the stairs and Hammond turns to him, concern on his face. “Colonel, are you sure you feel up to this?”

“Never felt better, sir.” It’s a blatant lie, there’s something going that he doesn’t understand yet, some big secret that he’s not being let in on, but he does what he always does in these situations and decides to bluff his way through whatever happens. Hammond nods and Jack knows the General is far from convinced, but he won’t call him on it.

“Sir,” Sam says, “you really don’t remember Thoran?”

An image flashes briefly before his eyes, a tall, dark haired man greeting him with the enthusiasm of a long lost friend. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

He’s saved from having to tell his team anymore lies when they hear the sound of footsteps on the metal stairs. Hammond appears, followed by the man from Jack’s memory, a tall, strongly built middle-aged man wearing a long embroidered coat that only the Tok’ra can pull off. And he’s mostly guessing about the age, given the longevity of a Tok’ra host.

“I believe you know everybody,” Hammond says with just the faintest hint of irony in his voice.

Thoran nods. “Thank you for allowing us this opportunity,” he replies, his humble words at odds with the arrogance in his voice.

His team bristles and he’s not so impressed, typical Tok’ra, he thinks. But then Jack realizes that there’s someone else with them, a slighter figure wearing a long, dark brown cloak appears at the top of the stairs, the hood pulled up over her head and concealing her face. Jack knows who she is before she lowers the hood and stands quietly next to Thoran.

“And this is Shallan,” Hammond says by way of introduction.

The visceral reaction that races through him is unmistakable and Jack’s grateful when Hammond takes his customary seat and gestures for Thoran and Shallan to sit down, so that he can sit down too. His team isn’t so obvious as to stare open-mouthed at Shallan, and Sam isn’t looking at her at all, but is instead looking at him with troubled eyes.

He can’t take his eyes off Shallan. The conversation drifts around him; Jonas repeats their plan to provoke Lord Yu into attacking and providing a diversion, with the occasional comment from Teal’c, but Jack’s heard it before and what he really wants to know is why Shallan is here. He wonders why she’s with Thoran and if she’s safe…happy…and if she still needs his help. The room falls quiet and Jack suddenly realizes everyone is looking at him.

“Colonel,” Hammond says, his voice kind. “Thoran asked if you recall any of your time with Kanan.”

Jack’s eyes drift to Shallan, she sits perched on the edge of her chair, her hands folded gracefully on the table, her expression calm. He wonders what she’s told Thoran of her unwitting role in the disaster that was his blending with Kanan. Not just her, hell, both of them were used, discarded and then almost killed in Kanan’s belated attempt to make it right. He looks at Thoran and something inside his gut tightens and his hands clench into fists in his lap before he forces himself to relax. “Don’t remember a thing.”

For a moment Jack thinks Thoran is going to push him and demand more, but he seems to think better of it and instead turns to Hammond and says, “We thank you for your time, General. But it would seem that it as I suspected, the blending between Kanan and O’Neill was incomplete.”

“It was complete enough that Kanan was able to take control of the Colonel’s body and force him to go to Ba’al’s fortress!” Carter’s accusation is unexpectedly harsh and it surprises him.

“As I have already told you,” Thoran says, “it would not have been possible for Kanan to act alone, especially with an incomplete blending.”

Jack’s not so sure, but he’s not about to get into it with Thoran. He’s tired of being jerked around by the Tok’ra…he’s just damn tired of the whole thing. “Look,” he finally says. “I don’t know why Kanan did what he did. I am grateful that he healed me.” His eyes flash to Sam, but she suddenly won’t look at him. “Believe me,” he tells Thoran. “If I’d known it was going to end up being fun and games with Ba’al, I would have stopped him.”

Thoran stands up, clearly finished with the interview, and Hammond does likewise. Jack stares down at the polished wood table, only vaguely aware of the activity around him as the others stand, waiting while Thoran and Hammond slowly make their way to the stairs. He’s not sure what Thoran hoped to accomplish with this meeting, but he’ll leave it to Hammond to navigate the treacherous diplomatic waters between the Tok’ra and the Tau’ri. But there is one more thing he will do.

Getting swiftly to his feet, Jack reaches the parting duo and gently grasps Shallan’s hand. She stops and gives him a questioning look, her fingers curling gently around his. “Sir,” he says, addressing Hammond, “If we might have a minute? Alone?”

He waits for Thoran to protest, but to his surprise the Tok’ra merely looks resigned. Hammond nods and says, “You can use my office.”

It’s more than he hoped for and Jack pulls her along behind him, not unlike when they were running from Ba’al’s men but this time he’s not sure from whom—or from what—he’s running. Drawing her into Hammond’s office, he closes the door and glances quickly through the window. Hammond and Thoran look to be in deep discussion; he can’t see Jonas and Teal’c but he can see Sam. She’s not even trying to disguise her interest; she’s openly watching, her expression uneasy. He turns back to Shallan, searching her gray eyes for answers.

“Are you okay?” he asks gruffly. “I mean, with the Tok’ra and everything?”

“I am fine.” Her voice is strong and she smiles gently. She reaches up and Jack holds perfectly still when she lightly caresses his cheek. “And you? Are you…okay?”

He feels like their roles are suddenly reversed and he mumbles, “Yeah, just fine.” Jack can tell she doesn’t believe him, but he hasn’t brought her here to talk about himself. “You don’t have to stay with them,” he tells her. “You can go home or wherever you want.”

Her smile fades slightly. “My people were conquered long ago by the Goa’uld. I have been in service to Ba’al since I was a small child. I wish to do this; I have much to offer the Tok’ra.” Her expression changes as she talks, confidence and strength replacing the image he has of her as a helpless victim of Ba’al. “It is my choice,” she states firmly. “I know you do not trust them, but Kanan was a good man and I wish to carry on in his place.”

Jack thinks maybe Kanan was not quite as good a man as Shallan thinks, but she has made her decision and he’s satisfied that it’s her decision. “If you ever need anything….”

“I will not,” she replies simply. She glances out the window and Jack does too. Thoran looks impatient while Hammond’s frown has deepened and Sam’s troubled look is still firmly in place. Shallan turns back to him and his eyes close when she places a hand on his shoulder, her body just touching his when she reaches up and places a soft kiss on his cheek. She smells both familiar and exotic and as an unexpected rush of longing fills him, Jack clenches his hands into fists at his side, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her. “Thank you,” she murmurs against his cheek. “For coming back for me.”

Her cloak swirls around him when she leaves Hammond’s office and he takes a deep breath, fighting down the surge of emotions she leaves in her wake. Kanan was a hundred different kinds of fool to love her and then leave her and when Jack opens his eyes and sees Sam waiting on the other side of the window, he wonders tiredly what kind of fool that makes him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack makes it as far as his truck on sheer willpower, refusing to admit to himself, or anyone else for that matter, that he’s still not fully recovered from his ordeal at Ba’al’s hands. He ignores how his hand shakes when he fumbles for his car keys, pressing the remote door lock and sliding gratefully into the front seat. He’s sweating now and still shaking; his eyes close and he slumps forward against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths and praying he’s not having some sort of delayed sarcophagus withdrawal.

The door to his truck suddenly swings open and he manages to lift his head, ready to growl at whoever has dared to breach his privacy but he doesn’t utter a word. Sam stands in the open door, she’s changed out of her BDU’s and into jeans and a pink top peeking out from under a jean jacket. Her expression is solemn and she says, “Move over.”

There’s a firmness in her voice that Jack doesn’t question and he knows he’s not in any shape to argue with her, so he scoots over and she climbs into the driver’s seat. He manages to fasten his seatbelt, saving him the embarrassment of needing Sam’s help. The engine turns over with a low growl and Sam expertly maneuvers the large truck through the maze of vehicles, parking lots and roads that lead out of the mountain and soon they’re zooming along the highway that leads to the Springs.

The familiar scenery—majestic pines and spruce, the clear blue sky and mountains rising heavenward soothes his battered soul; he doesn’t want to think he ever gave up hope during those dark hours with Ba’al but he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever see Earth again…and Sam. He glances at her, her eyes are focused on the road, competently navigating them through the increasingly heavy traffic. He doesn’t question why she followed him out to his truck; he’s just grateful right now that she did. He wonders if her solicitude is merely an extension of the whole never leave anybody behind culture but he knows better, knows that it’s more.

The drive isn’t long, but he must’ve dozed off because the next thing he knows is Sam lightly touching his shoulder. “Colonel. We’re home.” Jack slowly opens his eyes and all he can see are concerned blue eyes and in that brief, unguarded moment he hears her gasp softly before she moves away, getting out of the truck. He feels like an old man, struggling with the seatbelt and then she’s there, opening the door for him and when he staggers getting out of the truck, she wraps her arm around his waist and he leans on her as they walk slowly up the drive to his front door.

She has his keys, the interior of his house is cool and slightly musty smelling, closed up for the weeks he was gone. He should do something, like open some windows, but all he wants is to lie down. Either Sam can read his mind or she doesn’t trust him to stay on his feet, because she guides him down the hallway that leads to his bedroom. His bed has never looked more inviting and he drops down on it with a low groan.

“Maybe I should call Janet.” Sam stands over him, biting her lower lip.

“No,” he says, opening his eyes and gazing up at her, willing her to believe him. “I’m fine. Just need a little nap.” His limbs feel like rubber, but he somehow manages to tug at the laces and work his boots off, they hit the floor with a thud and he rolls over onto his side away from her, haphazardly tugging the bedspread up over him. He hears her soft sigh and even though he wants to ask her to stay, he won’t. The door closes with a quiet click and he closes his eyes, ignoring the empty feeling left by her departure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack’s sleep is filled with dreams, but not of Shallan or even Ba’al, they’re full of Sam. He wakes aching for her and with weary resignation, he opens his eyes and gazes up at the ceiling. The room is in shadows; he’s slept through the afternoon and he doesn’t need to check the bedside clock to know it’s gone on early evening. Sam…he’s done it all now for her, living and dying. Too bad he only feels half alive. And now he knows that’s better than being dead, but only just. His thoughts drift to Kanan and while he wants to hate him, he finds he doesn’t have the heart anymore. Kanan was as much a victim of love as he is, only Kanan had the guts to finally do something about his love, however belatedly.

God, he’s still so tired, but his stomach rumbles, reminding him it’s been hours since the pathetic excuse for breakfast he was given in the infirmary. He sits up, manages to stand up and staggers to the bathroom. He flips on the light, blinking at the brightness. He grabs onto the edges of the sink and looks in the mirror, he looks like hell. Splashing water on his face, he uses the facilities and washes up again before going in search of food.

He opens the bedroom door and frowns slightly, a light glows from the front of the house. Padding barefoot down the hall, he hears the faint sound of movement. He should probably go get his gun, but he isn’t too worried, he’s spent the better part of the last month dead. Reaching the dining room he stops in his tracks. The table is set for two…definitely not the way he left the table all those weeks ago. And he realizes the sounds he’s hearing are coming from the kitchen just as Sam appears in the doorway.

She smiles, one of those genuine ones that make him feel like the most important man in her life. “You’re awake.”

“Hungry,” he says, only then realizing there’s a tantalizing aroma coming from his kitchen. He raises an eyebrow and she steps back, letting him walk past her. There’s a pot of something simmering on the stove and he looks in it.

“It’s just some white chili,” she tells him. “I hope you don’t mind?”

It looks good, the pot brimming with chicken and beans, the air fragrant with cilantro. “No, smells good.”

“Good,” she says. “I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up, I just need to make the cornbread.”

Jack steps back, out of her way, and watches while she adds some milk and an egg to a box of cornbread mix, quickly mixing the ingredients together and pouring it all into a baking dish he doesn’t even remember he had. “I went to the grocery store,” she tells him, concentrating on the cornbread mix. “Your cupboards were pretty bare.” She looks at him then, uncertainty in her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No…no, I appreciate it.” He doesn’t want it to be like this between them, stilted and awkward, but he doesn’t know how to make it right without changing everything. “What did you tell me?” the faint echo in his mind reminds him. “It’s never too late.” He shakes off the sensation, earning a concerned look from Sam.

“Here,” she says, like she’s suddenly made a decision. She steps past him to the refrigerator and pulls out a beer, handing it to him. “Why don’t you go wait in the living room? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Jack takes the cold long neck from her, twisting off the cap. He should do as she asks, but he lingers in the doorway, nursing his beer and watching her work. In spite of her infrequent comments to the contrary, she moves about his kitchen with a graceful skill that tells him she’s as comfortable in a kitchen as she is in her lab or out in the field. When she realizes he’s still there, she starts talking and he lets her words flow over him, listening to her tell the B-movie tale of ship building aliens in small town America and the frightening side note of her almost-goa’uld possession.

With his own almost-blending still so fresh in his mind, Jack’s not quite sure how she can be so calm and matter-of-fact, but then it’s all in the line of duty, isn’t? “You were damn lucky this time.”

She gives him an odd look, but doesn’t rise to the bait, instead hands him a platter heaped with steaming cornbread. “I’ll bring in the soup.” Jack recognizes a diverting tactic when he sees it, so he does as she asks and waits at the table for her.

The chili is delicious, just spicy enough to be interesting but not overwhelming and the cornbread is moist and sweet, dripping with butter and honey that Sam unearthed from somewhere in his cupboards. She doesn’t bring up work again and beyond asking him how everything tastes, they eat in silence. He declines the offer of a second bowl and when she starts clearing the table he lets her. She’ll leave, he knows, after everything is all cleared up and she’s at least halfway certain that he’ll be okay on his own. He won’t be okay and something reckless starts to build inside him. Maybe it would have been better if Fraiser had kept him for another day, but it’s too late now. He feels a curious freedom and he wishes he could remember if this was how Kanan felt when he finally decided to go back for Shallan.

It doesn’t take her long to clean up and before he’s ready, she’s standing by the table, her jean jacket draped over her arm and a cautious smile on her face. “Is there anything else I can do before I leave?” She’s polite and he can already sense the distance reforming between them.

“You can stay.”

The look of pure longing that flashes across her face is like a knife through his heart; but what cuts him worse is the bleak expression that replaces it. She shakes her head. “I don’t think I should, sir.”

“Jack,” he corrects, standing up. She takes a step back and his smile is gentle when he takes her hand. “It’s Jack.”

He can feel the tension in her and has no trouble reading the expressions that cross her face. He’s known her too long…watched her for too long. She gives what he hopes is an experimental tug on her hand, testing him. His grip is gentle but implacable; he’s not about to let her go. Not now…not ever. Unless…he’s totally misread her but then he flashes to the anguish on her face when she’s pleading with him to take the symbiote…pleading with him to live.

“Sir,” she says, her voice hesitant. “I don’t think—”

She’s scared and wary; he understands. He is too. But he’s pretty sure now that life without her scares him more. “It’s okay.” Her look is skeptical and he chuckles. He’s still holding her hand and he rubs his thumb lightly across her soft skin. “Okay, I know it might not seem that way, but this,” he tugs gently at her hand and she seems to soften, taking a step closer to him. “This is what it should be.”

“Jack, you’ve been through a lot recently, with your illness, the blending and then Ba’al. With all due respect, I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly.”

When she uses his name he knows he’s won her over and his feeling is merely reinforced when she omits the obligatory ‘sir’ from her due respect spiel. Jack’s not sure how he can convince her that his thoughts have never been clearer than they are at this moment. He’s done this before, told her how he feels and heard the same from her, and then they both did their best to ignore those feelings. Over the past two years, his feelings haven’t changed, only grown stronger, and maybe his brains are scrambled from the blending, but he’s through with that life. It’s time to start his new one.

Her blue eyes shine with hope that’s tinged with the sad acceptance he’s come to expect. Words won’t work anymore; Jack suspects Kanan said more with his last action than any words he ever spoke to convince Shallan of his love. Moving deliberately, this has to be what she wants as well, Jack steps closer to her, until their bodies are just touching. Her fingers tighten around his hand and she’s gone so still, he can barely feel her breathing.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he slowly lowers his head and murmurs, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my entire life.”

With what sounds suspiciously like a sob, Sam launches herself into his arms, her lips fastening on his and her arms tight around him. It’s like she’s trying to merge herself with him, her body presses closer and she moans into his mouth, her pelvis grinding into his. From the too few times he’s actually kissed Sam, he suspected that they’d be incendiary together, a theory that’s just now confirmed. And as much as he wants her, he suspects his stamina won’t hold up as long as his desire—which currently borders on never-ending.

The hallway to his bedroom has never seemed longer than when he tries to guide Sam down it. Even when it seems she realizes his intent, she still refuses to let him go. “Sam,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along her jaw and shuffling a few steps forward. “Bed. Now. Before I fall down.”

Her hands pause and slip out from under his shirt and he moans, suddenly worried that she’s going to stop completely. But then her lips brush against his and she whispers, “Then I guess we better get to the bedroom.” She takes his hand and takes the lead, drawing him the rest of the distance down the hall until they’re standing in his bedroom.

It’s dark in the room and he reaches for the bedside lamp, switching it on. Sam reaches for him, tugging at his T-shirt, the fleeting touches of her fingers against his bare skin is electric. She seems determined and he doesn’t try to stop her, since his goal is the same as hers. It’s only a matter of a few zippers and buttons and she’s pushing him back down onto the bed, dragging his khakis down his legs and tossing them aside.

Jack feels dizzy, but not from anything that happened during his captivity, but from what’s happening right in front of him. Sam strips off her clothes and he watches with ever-increasing passion as the body he’s only been able to imagine is slowly revealed to him. She’s beautiful, her pale skin gleams in the soft light and Jack can barely breathe, it’s finally going to happen and he’s suddenly not sure he’ll survive. And then she’s kneeling over him, her tender smile and loving eyes full of promises for the future and he knows with utmost certainty that his life is never going to be the same, and he’s never been happier.

Sam‘s touch is delicate as she runs her fingers along his collarbone and across his chest; her eyes dark with something other than passion when she looks at him. “Janet’s report said you were injured?”

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t have any scars from the acid and knives, probably the work of the sarcophagus. His wounds may not show on the outside, but he can still feel them, from the piercing pain to the burning ache. Jack reaches for her hand, moving it slowly across his chest, marking each spot. “He used acid here.” Her breath catches and he moves his hand again. “And knives.” He thinks he sees the sheen of tears in her eyes, but before he can be certain, she lowers her head and he feels the soft brush of her lips against his skin, traveling slowly across his chest, marking each unseen wound.

She doesn’t stop there; she strokes and caresses him, each touch arousing even as it soothes the terrible ache inside him. Jack thought he was the one seducing her, but it seems their roles have reversed and he doesn’t really care. Sinking ever deeper into the web of desire she weaves around him, Jack caresses her in return, touching and stroking a soft breast, a firm thigh, and the even softer flesh waiting for him, until she’s trembling over him and there’s only one thing left that can satisfy them.

His heart is racing and he’s breathing hard, like he’s running for his life, when Sam finally rises up over him and straddles his hips. He steadies her with hands that tremble, groaning with pleasure as she sinks down on him. She gasps softly, her muscles tightening around him and he feels the deep breath she takes and the sudden relaxation in her body when she takes him fully. She opens her eyes and finds him looking at her, her lips curving in a slow smile that burns through him and when she starts moving, all he can do is feel.

He’s lost in the incredible sensations racing through his body, the pleasure so intense that he can barely think, as it is, he’s functioning at a primal level. He already knows it will be better than anything he’s known before her and he clings to his rapidly dwindling self-control, determined to take her with him when he eventually falls. Jack knows her well, yet this side of her is still a mystery to him, so he follows her lead, shifting with her and caressing her with deliberate care until she’s the one trembling against him, her movements becoming more erratic until she eventually folds, collapsing on him with a soft cry that’s his name and the sweet contractions of her body around his is all it takes to push him over the edge into ecstasy with her.

“Jack.” His name is a sigh against his neck, her body soft and warm on his. Jack would never have believed that he would have to die to find his life, but then he’s discovered that the universe is just full of surprises that way. He never wants this moment to end, but Sam eventually stirs and lifts her head, gazing down at him, a dreamy look on her face. Her contented look begins to fade though and concern fills her face. “Are you really okay?”

He knows she’s not asking if he’s physically okay, she’s more than likely read Fraiser’s report, heard it from Hammond and more obviously, seen for herself that physically, he’s okay. Mentally, emotionally, psychologically or whatever the hell you want to call it, he realizes with some surprise that he’s probably not as messed up as he should be. And he’s not sure what that says for his general psychological state. The nightmares will fade over time and since he’s not given to excessive self-introspection, he isn’t worried. But more important, he has Sam now and that is worth more to him than a passing score on any psych eval. So he answers her honestly. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He grins at her then, running his hand in a leisurely caress down the smooth skin of her back. “Better than okay, actually.”

She huffs a bit and her eyes narrow slightly and he’s not sure she completely believes him, but she eventually smiles and slowly shifts off him, nestling against his side. Her head is on his shoulder and one hand lightly caresses his chest. “Why do you think he did it? Kanan, I mean.”

Jack doesn’t particularly care anymore what motivated Kanan; but he understands why she asks. Shifting abruptly, he rises up on one elbow and gazes down at her. She looks up at him, trust and love shining out of her eyes and when an image of Shallan flashes through his memory, it’s like taking a punch to the gut. He might have suspected before, but now he gets it and knows without a doubt. Tenderly brushing her hair back off her forehead, he trails his fingers down her cheek in a soft caress and murmurs gruffly, “He finally saw with his heart.”

THE END


End file.
